FITZ THE BAD HAND'S GOOD THROW
That green bear-pelt and Jed together were almost too heavy, so that we
went slow and careful and stopped often, to rest us. The sun was setting
when at last we got down to camp again--and we arrived, a very different
party from that which had gone out twelve hours before. It was a sorry
home-coming. But we must not lament or complain over what was our own
fault. We must do our best to turn it to account. We must be Scouts.
We made Jed comfortable on a blanket bed. His leg we let alone, as the
bandage seemed to be all right. And his shoulder we of course let alone.
Then we took stock. Major Henry decided very quickly.
"Jed can't travel. He will have to stay here till his wounds heal more,
and Kit Carson will have to stay with him. I'd stay, instead, because
I'm to blame for wasting some men and some time; but the general passed
the command on to me and I ought to go as far as I possibly can. We'll
fix Kit and Jed the best we're able, and to-morrow we'll hustle on and
make night marches, if we need to."
This was sense. Anyway, although we had wasted men and time, we were now
stocked up with provisions; all that bear meat! While Fitzpatrick and
Red Fox Scout Ward were cooking supper and poor Jed looked on, two of us
went at the meat to cut it into strips for jerking, and two of us
stretched the pelt to grain it before it dried.
We cut the meat into the strips and piled them until we could string
them to smoke and dry them. We then washed for supper, because we were
pretty bloody with the work of cutting. After supper, by moonlight, we
strung the strips with a sailor's needle and cord which the Red Fox
Scouts had in their kit, and erected a scaffolding of four fork-sticks
with two other sticks laid across at the ends. We stretched the strings
of meat in lines, back and forth. Next thing was to make a smudge under
and to lay a tarp over to hold the smudge while the meat should smoke.
(Note 60.)
Pine smoke is no good, because it is so strong. Alder makes a fine sweet
smoke, but we didn't have any alder, up here. We used aspen, as the next
best thing at hand. And by the time we had the pelt grained and the meat
strung and had toted enough aspen, we were tired.
But somebody must stay awake, to tend to Jed and give him a drink and
keep him company, and to watch the smudge, that it didn't flame up too
fierce and that it didn't go out. By smoking and drying the meat all
night and by drying it in the sun afterward, Major Henry thought that it
would be ready so that we could take our share along with us.
If we had that, then we would not need to stop to hunt, and we could
make short camps, as we pleased. You see, we had only four days in which
to deliver the message; and we had just reached the pass!
This was a kind of miserable night. Jed of course had a bed to himself,
which used up blankets. The others of us stood watch an hour and a half
each, over him and over the smudge. He was awful restless, because his
leg hurt like sixty, and none of us slept very well, after the
excitement. I was sleepiest when the time came for us to get up.
We had breakfast, of bear steak and bread or biscuits and gravy. The
meat we were jerking seemed to have been smoked splendidly. The tarp was
smoked, anyhow. We took it off and aired it, and left the strips as they
were, to dry some more in the sun. They were dark, and quite stiff and
hard, and by noon they were brittle as old leather. The hide was dry,
too, and ready for working over with brains and water, and for smoking.
(Note 61.)
But we left that to Kit. Now we must take the trail again. We spent the
morning fussing, and making the cabin tight for Jed and Kit; at last
the meat had been jerked so that our share would keep, and we had done
all that we could, and we were in shape to carry the message on over the
pass and down to Green Valley.
"All right," spoke Major Henry, after dinner. "Let's be off. Scout
Carson, we leave Scout Smith in your charge. You and he stay right here
until he's able to travel. Then you can follow over the pass and hit
Green Valley, or you can back-track for the Ranger's cabin and for home.
Apache will come in soon and you'll have him to pack out with. You'll be
entitled to just as much honor by bringing Jed out safe as we will by
carrying the message. Isn't that so, boys?"
"Sure," we said.
But naturally Kit hated to stay behind. Only, somebody must; it was
Scouts' duty. We all shook hands with him and with wounded Jed (who
hated staying, too), and said "Adios," and started off.
Apache had not appeared, and we were to pack our own outfit. We left Jed
and Kit enough meat and all the flour (which wasn't much) and what other
stuff we could spare (they had the bearskin to use for bedding as soon
as it was tanned) and one rope and our twenty-two rifle, and the
Ranger's fry-pan and two cups, and we divided among us what we could
carry.
"Now we've got three days and a half to get through in," announced Major
Henry. We counted the days on the trail to make sure. Yes, three days
and a half. "And besides, these Red Fox Scouts must catch a train in
time to make connections for that Yellowstone trip. We've put in too
much time, and I think we ought to travel by night as well as by day,
for a while."
"Short sleeps and long marches; that's my vote," said Fitz.
"Don't do it on our account," put in the Red Fox Scouts. "But we're
game. We'll travel as fast as you want to."
So we decided. And now only three Elk Scouts, instead of six, and two
Red Fox Scouts, again we took the long trail. In the Ranger's cabin
behind was our gallant leader General Ashley, and in this other cabin by
the lake were Jed Smith and Kit Carson. Thus our ranks were being
thinned.
We followed the trail from the lake and struck the old Indian trail
again, leading over the pass. About the middle of the afternoon we were
at the pass itself. It was wide and smooth and open and covered with
gravel and short grass and little low flowers like daisies. On either
side were brownish red jagged peaks and rimrock faces, specked with
snow. The wind blew strong and cold. There were many sheep-tracks, where
bands had been trailed over, for the low country or for the summer
range. It was a wild, desolate region, with nothing moving except
ourselves and a big hawk high above; but we pressed on fast, in close
order, our packs on our backs, Major Henry leading. And we were lonesome
without Kit and Jed.
Old Pilot Peak gradually sank behind us; the country before began to
spread out into timber and meadow and valley. Pretty soon we caught up
with a little stream. It flowed in the same direction that we were
going, and we knew that we were across the pass and that we were on the
other side of the Medicine Range, at last! Hurrah!
We were stepping long, down-hill. We came to dwarf cedars, and buck
brush, showing that we were getting lower. And at a sudden halt by the
major, in a nice golden twilight we threw off our packs and halted for
supper beside the stream, among some aspens--the first ones.
About an hour after sunset the moon rose, opposite--a big round moon,
lighting everything so that travel would be easy. We had stocked up on
the jerked bear-meat, roasted on sharp sticks, and on coffee from the
cubes that the Red Fox Scouts carried, and we were ready. The jerked
bear-meat was fine and made us feel strong. So now Major Henry stood,
and swung his pack; and we all stood.
"Let's hike," he said.
That was a beautiful march. The air was crisp and quiet, the moon
mounted higher, flooding the country with silver. Once in a while a
coyote barked. The rabbits all were out, hopping in the shine and
shadow. We saw a snowshoe kind, with its big hairy feet. We saw several
porcupines, and an owl as large as a buzzard. This was a different world
from that of day, and it seemed to us that people miss a lot of things
by sleeping.
Our course was due west, by the North Star. We were down off the pass,
and had struck a valley, with meadow and scattered pines, and a stream
rippling through, and the moonlight lying white and still. In about
three hours we came upon sign of another camp, where somebody had
stopped and had made a fire and had eaten. There were burro tracks here,
so that it might have been a prospectors' camp; and there was an empty
tin can like a large coffee can.
"I think we had better rest again," said Major Henry. "We can have a
snack and a short sleep."
We didn't cook any meat. We weren't going to take out any of the Red Fox
dishes, but Fitz started to fill the tin can with water, to make soup in
that. It was Red Fox Scout Ward who warned us.
"Here," he objected. "Do you think we ought to do that? You know
sometimes a tin can gives off poison when you cook in it."
"And we don't know what was in this can," added Van Sant. "We don't want
to get ptomaine poisoning. I'd rather unpack ten packs than run any
risk."
That was sense. The can _looked_ clean, inside, and the idea of being
made sick by it hadn't occurred to us Elks. But we remembered, now, some
things that we'd read. So we kicked the can to one side, that nobody
else should use it, and Fitz made the soup in a regulation dish from the
Red Fox aluminum kit. (Note 62.)
We drank the soup and each chewed a slice of the bear-meat cold. It was
sweet and good, and the soup helped out. Then we rolled in our blankets
and went to sleep. We all had it on our minds to wake in four hours, and
the mind is a regular clock if you train it.
I woke just about right, according to the stars. The two stars in the
bottom of the Little Dipper, that we used for an hour hand, had been
exactly above a pointed spruce, when I had dozed off, and now when I
looked they had moved about three feet around the Pole Star. While I lay
blinking and warm and comfortable, and not thinking of anything in
particular, I heard a crackle of sticks and the scratch of a match. And
there squatting on the edge of a shadow was somebody already up and
making a fire.
"Is that you, Fitz?" asked Major Henry.
"Yes. You fellows lie still a few seconds longer and I'll have some tea
for you."
Good old Fitz! He need not have done that. He had not been ordered to.
But it was a thoughtful Scout act--and was a Fitz act, to boot.
Scouts Ward and Van Sant were awake now; and we all lay watching Fitz,
and waiting, as he had asked us to. Then when we saw him put in the
tea--
"Levez!" spoke Major Henry; which is the old trapper custom. "Levez! Get
up!" (Note 63.)
Up we sprang, into the cold, and with our blankets about our shoulders,
Indian fashion, we each drank a good swig of hot tea. Then we washed our
faces, and packed our blankets, and took the trail.
It was about three in the morning. The moon was halfway down the west,
and the air was chill and had that peculiar feel of just before morning.
Everything was ghostly, as we slipped along, but a few birds were
twittering sleepily. Once a coyote crossed our path--stopped to look
back at us, and trotted away again.
Gradually the east began to pale; there were fewer stars along that
horizon than along the horizon where the moon was setting. The burro
tracks were plain before us, in the trail that led down the valley. The
trail inclined off to the left, or to the south of west; but we
concluded to follow it because we could make better time and we believed
that the railroad lay in that direction. The Red Fox Scouts ought to be
taken as near to the railroad as possible, before we left them. They had
been mighty good to us.
The moon sank, soon the sun would be up; the birds were moving as well
as chirping, the east was brightening, and already the tip of Pilot
Peak, far away behind us with Kit and Jed sleeping at his base, was
touched with pink, when we came upon a camp.
Red Fox Scout Van Sant, who was leading, suddenly stopped short and
lifted his hand in warning. Before, in a bend of the stream that we were
skirting, among the pines and spruces beside it was a lean-to, with a
blackened fire, and two figures rolled in blankets; and back from the
stream a little way, across in an open grassy spot, was a burro. It had
been grazing, but now it was eying us with head and ears up. Red Fox
Scout Van had sighted the burro first and next, of course, the lean-to
camp.
We stood stock-still, surveying.
"Cache!" whispered Major Henry (which means "Hide"); and we stepped
softly aside into the brush. For that burro looked very much like Sally,
who had been taken from us by the two recruits when they had stolen
Apache also--and by the way that the figures were lying, under a
lean-to, they might be the renegade recruits themselves. It was a
hostile camp!
"What is it?" whispered Red Fox Scout Ward, his eyes sparkling. "Enemy?"
"I think so," murmured Major Henry.
"We can pass."
"Sure. But if that's our burro we ought to take her." And the major
explained.
The Red Foxes nodded.
"But if she isn't, then we don't want her. One of us ought to
reconnoiter." And the major hesitated. "Fitz, you go," he said. And this
rather surprised me, because naturally the major ought to have gone
himself, he being the leader. "I've got a side-ache, somehow," he added,
apologizing. "It isn't much--but it might interfere with my crawling."
Fitz was only too ready to do the stalking. He left his pack, and with a
détour began sneaking upon the lean-to. We watched, breathless. But the
figures never stirred. Fitz came out, opposite, and from bush to bush
and tree to tree he crept nearer and nearer, with little darts from
cover to cover; and at last very cautiously, on his hands and knees; and
finally wriggling on his belly like a snake.
'Twas fine stalking, and we were glad that the Red Fox Scouts were here
to see. But it seemed to us that Fitz was getting too near. However, the
figures did not move, and did not know--and now Fitz was almost upon
them. From behind a tree only a yard away from them he stretched his
neck and peered, for half a minute. Then he crawled backward, and
disappeared. Presently he was with us again.
"It's they, sir," he reported. "Bat and Walt. They're asleep. And that
is Sally, I'm certain. I know her by the white spot on her back."
"We must have her," said the major. "She's ours. We'll get her and pack
her, so we can travel better."
"Can we catch her, all right?" queried Red Fox Scout Van Sant. "We're
liable to wake those two fellows up, aren't we?"
"What if we do?" put in his partner, Scout Ward. "Three of us can guard
them, and the other two can chase the burro."
"No," said Major Henry. "I think we can rope her and be off before those
renegades know anything about it. Can you, Fitz?"
Fitz nodded, eager.
"Then take the rope, and go after her."
Fitz did. He was a boss roper, too. You wouldn't believe it, of a
one-armed boy, but it was so. All we Elk Scouts could throw a rope some.
A rope comes in pretty handy, at times. Most range horses have to be
caught in the corral with a rope, and knowing how to throw a rope will
pull a man out of a stream or out of a hole and will perhaps save his
life. But Fitz was our prize roper, because he had practiced harder than
any of us, to make up for having only one arm.
The way he did was to carry the coil on his stump, and the lash end in
his teeth; and when he had cast, quick as lightning he took the end
from between his teeth ready to haul on it.
Major Henry might have gone, himself, to get the credit and to show what
he could do; but he showed his sense by resigning in favor of Fitz.
So now at the command Fitz took the rope from him and shook it out and
re-coiled it nicely. Then, carrying it, he sneaked through the trees,
and crossed the creek, farther up, wading to his ankles, and advanced
upon Sally.
Sally divided her attention between him and us, and finally pricked her
ears at him alone. She knew what was being tried.
Coming out into the open space Fitz advanced slower and slower, step by
step. He had his rope ready--the coil was on his stump, and the lash end
was in his teeth, and the noose trailed by his side, from his good hand.
We glanced from him and Sally to the lean-to, and back again, for the
campers were sleeping peacefully. If only they would not wake and spoil
matters.
Sally held her head high, suspicious and interested. Fitz did not dare
to speak to her; he must trust that she would give him a chance at her
before she escaped into the trees where roping would be a great deal
harder.
We watched. My heart beat so that it hurt. Having that burro meant a lot
to us, for those packs were heavy--and it was a point of honor, too,
that we recapture our own. Here was our chance.
Fitz continued to trail his noose. He didn't swing it. Sally watched
him, and we watched them both. He was almost close enough, was Fitz, to
throw. A few steps more, and something would happen. But Sally concluded
not to wait. She tossed her head, and with a snort turned to trot away.
And suddenly Fitz, in a little run and a jerk, threw with all his might.
Straight and swift the noose sailed out, opening into an "O," and
dragging the rope like a tail behind it. Fitz had grabbed the lash end
from between his teeth, and was running forward, to make the cast cover
more ground. It was a beautiful noose and well aimed. Before it landed
we saw that it was going to land right. Just as it fell Sally trotted
square into it, and it dropped over her head. She stopped short and
cringed, but she was too late. Fitz had sprung back and had hauled hard.
It drew tight about her neck, and she was caught. She knew it, and she
stood still, with an inquiring gaze around. She knew better than to run
on the rope and risk being thrown or choked. Hurrah! We would have
cheered--but we didn't dare. We only shook hands all round and grinned;
and in a minute came Fitz, leading her to us. She was meek enough, but
she didn't seem particularly glad to see us. We patted Fitz on the back
and let him know that we appreciated him.
He had only the one throw, but that had been enough. It was like Van's
last cartridge.